


Starvation Cheap

by Drag0nst0rm



Series: As Old and as True as the Sky [5]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Dark, Gen, Kidnapping, Suicide Attempt, Wendigo, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 07:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11641437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: A wendigo isn't born.A wendigo is made.And the process is never pleasant.





	Starvation Cheap

**Author's Note:**

> New publishing plans: I've got an arc idea for Ziva now, so hopefully that will get written and go up tomorrow. After that, I plan to have a considerably lighter piece that will wrap up loose ends and go as far into the future as this series is going.
> 
> Originally, that was going to be the end of things, but I've been tempted into considering writing some quick looks back at episodes I skipped over, namely: the plague, Tony being separated from the team, Senior, and Tony getting a job offer elsewhere. If you've got any more ideas or requests, feel free to ask, although, as always, I make no guarantees.
> 
> Title and quote are both from Kipling's "Tommy."

_"There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind." - Rudyard Kipling, “Tommy."_

 

She was prepared for the potential consequences when she joined the NSA. She could be targeted by someone who wanted her access to critical information. Shapeshifters might try to replace her, the fey's addiction to information might persuade them to come after her, and regular old human spies might think she had information they wanted. She and Jake had passwords to check the other was who they said they were, the best security system they could afford, and they kept up to date with their combat training. They did everything right. When you were human in their line of work, you had to.

Bishop had prepared herself for the possibility that doing everything right might not be enough. Someday, she might know something - or people might think she knew something - so critical that they were willing to make the effort to overcome their protections.

She was less mentally prepared for the idea that she might be snatched off the street not because of her clearance level, but because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A woman alone with her hands full of groceries. She'd known better, but she had been in a hurry, and she hadn't been working on anything particularly dangerous lately. She had thought she could risk it.  
She had been wrong.

 

One hundred and twenty-five thousand. That was how many people went missing in the United States each year.

Of those, Bishop reminded herself firmly, over eighty percent were eventually found.

She tried not to think about the statistics on how many were found alive. Those weren't nearly as promising.

Nothing about this set-up was promising. Not the stacked cages in the dark, cavernous room, one of which she'd woken up in. Not the fanatic gleam in the eyes of the man who'd been directing the thugs who grabbed her. Not the fact that she'd been grabbed at the start of a long weekend while Jake was away on a trip, meaning that it could be days until someone noticed she was missing. Especially not the fact that she hadn't had the chance to eat dinner when they grabbed her, and now her stomach was definitely complaining.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and scooted to the back of the cage. She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. Her knuckles stung at the movement.  
She vividly remembered the look on the leader's face when she'd temporarily managed to break away from his thugs and had slugged him in the face.  
Okay. Maybe _one_ thing was promising.

 

Her watch informed it had been three hours when the thugs walked in with a struggling man and threw him into the cage next to hers.

"Hey! What's going on? What do you want?" Bishop demanded.

The men slid something between the bars of both of their cages and walked out.

The new man flinched and the wet thunk sound. Bishop scooted forward a little and shone her watch's light on it. Her nose wrinkled. "Ew. Raw meat." She was hungry, but she wasn't that hungry. "What did you get?"

The man took a deep breath and went to check. He had a small penlight on his keychain. That might come in handy. "Same." He poked a shaking hand through the bars. "Petty Officer Lawless, ma’am."

She shook his hand, the ridiculousness of the situation forcing her to hold back a giggle. "Ellie Bishop. NSA.”

Her watch's light went out sending the room plummeting into darkness. It didn't stop her from hearing Lawless's sharp intake of breath. "Any idea why we're here?”

"Nope. Any cool superhuman abilities that'll get us out of here?”

He huffed a laugh. "Afraid not. Unless you count my iron stomach.”

She poked the meat. "Iron enough to risk parasites?”

"Not quite yet," he admitted. "I don't think vomiting will add much to the atmosphere.”

She wasn't glad the petty officer had gotten grabbed, but it felt a little better not to be alone.

 

The schedule wasn't precise. Bishop's best guess was that the thugs were being sent further afield to avoid a panic over a rash of missing people from one area, but there were multiple teams bringing people in. When they came, they always brought something for the cages. Unfortunately, that something was always either water bottles or meat.

They still couldn't figure out why they had even been grabbed. The thugs weren't talking, they hadn't seen the boss again, and she couldn't figure out any sort of pattern from the people that were brought in. They weren't all involved in the government, they weren't people that wouldn't be missed, they weren't high profile ransom targets, and they didn't fit any ritual sacrifice criteria that she'd ever heard of.

"If they were just grabbing people to grab them, why not go after homeless people?" Bishop muttered when they brought the latest man in, an imposing man in an impeccable business suit. "For that matter, why not pick someone easier to take down? Nearly everyone they've picked has been physically imposing." With a few obvious exceptions, herself being among that number.

"What if they want people that are physically imposing?" Lawless suggested quietly. "They could be trying to set up some kind of fight ring.”

"Why choose me then? Or Rachel? Or Sam?" Rachel was a tiny math professor that kept spitting Spanish curses at their captors. Sam was some kind of violin prodigy that had been studying at the same university.

"From what you've told me, you're not a bad fighter," Lawless pointed out. "Maybe they knew that somehow. Or maybe . . . "

Bishop's mind was dancing over the weaker victims she'd just listed. "Or maybe it's not just about brawn," she breathed. "Maybe they want brains too."

"Weird qualification for a fight ring," he pointed out.

"We don't know that it's a fight ring," she countered. Her stomach growled and she gave a frustrated sigh. "If I could just get some food, maybe I could put this together. I food associate, my brain's not functioning right without it."

"There's always the meat," someone called dryly from the darkness to her left.

"The last time I ate a steak that wasn't well done, I was sick for a week," Bishop called back. "I think I'll hold off a little longer." Although she wasn't sure how long "a little longer" could be. It had been two days now.

"I don't think I can," Lawless admitted. "Time to test out the iron stomach." He clicked on his pen light and picked up the square of meat he'd been handed.

Bishop winced. "Good luck."

Lawless took a cautious bite and then tore through the rest. "Guess I was hungrier than I thought," he said sheepishly when he'd finished. "It didn't even taste that bad."

Bishop shuddered.

"I'm with you," someone to her lower left said. "I'm gonna go for it." One or two others followed suit.

"Not me," Bishop repeated.

Not yet.

 

Lawless woke her from a fitful nap with a ragged whisper a few hours later. 

"Bishop? You awake?"

She sat up and banged her head on the roof of the cage. "Ouch! Yeah. What do you need?"

"I think eating earlier just woke my stomach up. I'm starving. I don't suppose . . ." He sounded vaguely ashamed of himself.

"Oh! Yeah, sure, I'm not going to eat it," she assured him. She shoved the meat through the bars with two fingers. "Bon appetit."

"Thanks," he muttered before tearing into it.

She winced at the slightly sickening noise and went back to sleep.

 

She woke up again to the sound of a growl and her cage rattling. Her eyes flew open. "Lawless?" The growling was coming from his side of her cage. "You ok?"

The growling intensified. Was he having a nightmare?

She pressed the button on her watch for the light and twisted her wrist so it would shine into his cage.

Lawless's face was pressed up against the side of her cage. The little fat there had been in his face had been sucked out until there was nothing but bone and muscle. The skin that should have covered it was gone.

The muscle on the rest of his body had bulked up, except around the stomach. His uniform hung loose from his ribs. His hands, now too big to reach all the way through the bars, gripped them instead and rattled the cage. His eyes were black pits in his head.

Bishop screamed.

 

When she could think again, she was pressed on the far side of the cage from him, and the noise hadn't stopped. Her scream had woken the others up, and a chorus of growls and shrieks had sprung up immediately.

Bishop's hands were pressed over her mouth, and she couldn't quite seem to control her breathing.

She'd seen pictures like that before in her papers.

Wendigo. Lawless was a wendigo now.

That had been human meat.

 

Lawless had been a pretty big man, and the transformation had made his muscles even larger. No matter how he tried, he could never get through the bars to grab her.

Judging by some of the sounds she heard, she thought some of the wendigoes must have had smaller hands.

 

She kept her eyes tight shut, and her hands over her ears, and prayed her thanks that the other cage next to her was empty.

"My name is Ellie Bishop," she said in a shaking voice. "I work for the NSA. My husband's name is Jake. I will get out of here."

Her stomach growled. The wendigo that had once been Lawless snarled beside her.

Tears leaked out of her eyes. "My name is Ellie Bishop. I work for the NSA. I will see my husband again. I will get out of here."

Her watch gave a beep to indicate the hour and then a longer warning trill to caution her that its battery was dying.

"I will get out of here. I will get out of here. I will get out of here . . . "

One of the wendigoes was still eating. She could hear it.

"I will get out of here. Please, someone let me out of here."

 

The wendigoes snarled when the door open and a square of light blazed into the room. Bishop's heart leapt.

It was the leader and an honor guard of thugs.

Everything Bishop had planned to say caught in her throat.

The leader walked around to each of the cages, nodding as if well pleased. He stayed well out of reach of the bars. He stopped in front of hers. "Well, well, well.   
It looks like we've got a leader for our new army."

"Army?" she whispered.  
The leader spread his arms to indicate the snarling mass around them. "The army of the apocalypse. I present to you: Starvation.”

"You're mad," she whispered hoarsely. "And you're even more mad if you think I'll be leading them anywhere."

"Ah, but you see they've all quite lost their wits," he said, as if it were merely a question of explaining the matter. "You'll still have them."

"Still?" Still implied that there would be a change, and no matter how empty her stomach was, that wasn't going to happen. "I'm not eating anything you give me! I'm not letting you kill me like you killed them!"

"I assure you, they're very much alive. And you don't have to eat a thing, my dear. There are two ways to make a wendigo, you know, and the second is the reason I haven't visited more often."

She wracked her exhausted brain. "You can eat human flesh," she said, hands shaking, "or . . . "

"Or you can spend too much time in the wrong company." The man smiled at her complacently. "I'll come check on you in a few days, my dear. I'm sure you'll be ready to be unleashed on Washington by then."

Or prolonged proximity to multiple wendigoes.

The man led his thugs away.

"No! Let me out of here! Let me out!"

The door closed.

 

Her stomach never stopped growling now. It was like a beast inside her.

She couldn't see her body, but she could feel her arms. Feel the last reserves of fat disappear. Feel the muscle grow lean and tough when she wrapped a hand around one wrist. She could feel the way her clothes hung off her frame.

"I want to go home," she whimpered.

Growls answered her.

She woke up from a restless nap to a raging hunger that made her wonder if any part of her clothes were edible. She looked down at them out of habit, and realized that she could see a bit, dimly.

She reached up to touch her eyes. They had sunk into her head.

She squeezed her eyes shut and stubbornly condemned herself to darkness. "My name is Ellie Bishop. I'm going to go home."

 

It was NCIS that kicked the door down. They were looking for their missing Petty Officer. They had to wait and call for backup when they found what was inside.

Bishop waited in her cage. "My name is Ellie Bishop. I work for the NSA. I want to go home. My name is Ellie Bishop. I work for the NSA . . . "

People with special equipment finally came and led her away. She heard bullets echoing behind her as they walked off.

One of the people with her tried to cover the sound with a stream of soothing information. "We've caught the man that did this. We're going to help you. You're going to be alright."

At one point, he said the date.

It had been just over a week since she got caught.

 

Therapy. Doctor's visits. Counseling to help her "transition."

"Since you're a proximity wendigo, you don't face the sanctions the others did."

By sanctions, she was pretty sure the counselor meant "bullets."

"You also don't have to fear turning anyone by prolonged exposure to them. Other differences include your appearance, which, as I'm sure you've noticed, is still more or less human."

She nodded dully. "How much do I have to eat to make the hunger go away?"

The counselor winced slightly. "It won't."

 

She couldn't remember much of the week she was gone. Just flashes. The therapist said she'd repressed the memories.

She'd looked up accounts of other transformations. She decided not to try to recover them.

 

Jake filed for the divorce on the grounds that she was no longer human.

_My name is Ellie Bishop. My husband's name is Jake. I want to go home._

_My name is Ellie Bishop. I'm unmarried. I want to go home._

_I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home._

She went home to her parents. They didn't even flinch as they opened their arms for a hug.

 

When she got back from her leave, her job at the NSA hadn't changed, but her budget had. She got the cheapest apartment she could, cheapest _everything_ she could, and used the rest of her money on food. She could trick her stomach into thinking it was less hungry if she had something in her mouth.

Ramen noodles. Eggs. The free saltines in the break room. Soup. Anything. Everything.

Just no meat.

 

The problem with the NSA was partially that she kept running into Jake and partially that the people there had known her as she was before, and she couldn't . . . deal with that. Not on top of everything else. Flynn was the only one who treated her halfway normal, and he got further in her good books by bringing her gifts of homemade food and vending machine offerings.

Cookies. Cake. Sandwiches. Onion rings. Brownies. Chips. Candy.

She munched her way through it and used the associations to file her memories away.

 

Once Flynn was dead, the decision to move to NCIS made sense. They hadn't known her before. The work presented a challenge. And she felt safe there, in a way she didn't elsewhere.

Gibbs' team wasn't the one that had brought her home - that had been led by a woman nicknamed EJ - but Gibbs' team welcomed her with open arms, and that was good enough for her.

 

She followed Gibbs' orders and brought in enough food to share, a move that might have made her stomach growl even louder if the others hadn't done the same.

Lab baked treats from Abby. Pizza. Donuts. Thai. Chinese. Italian. Bakery goods.  
She could never get enough, but somehow she got closer.

 

Her excuse for her Challenges was always that she was hungry, and it was always true. People tended to take one look at the word "wendigo" and accept that excuse.

Which was silly of them, really. If they'd checked the autopsy report, they'd have found out there was never a bite mark on them.

Still, when they didn't want Gibbs to have to fight their opponent, and the others couldn't think of an excuse to take his place, hers worked perfectly well.

 

She didn't need detailed memories of being locked in a dark room to instinctively know she didn't like it.

This one, at least, was more of a basement than anything, and there were no cages in it. Just a half empty pack of water bottles, a few power bars, and a sleeping bag from where their suspect had been camping out. There was even a working light fixture.

Unfortunately, the suspect had managed to set a trap for them with the end result that they were somewhere on the loose out there, and they were locked in here.

And judging by the scraping noises they'd heard, he'd hidden the trapdoor to the basement before he left.

Gibbs finally gave up on trying to push the door up and jumped down from the ladder. "Your turn to give it a shot."

Bishop climbed up and heaved with all her strength. She grimaced. "Nothing."

Gibbs paced around the confines of the basement, taking stock of what they had. "We'll need to keep an ear out. When someone comes looking, we might need to make some noise."

"They will know to come looking here, won't they?" Bishop said hesitantly. "Only, we didn't know we'd be coming out here until we talked to the woman at the gas station, and with the cell service so bad, we couldn't call it in."

"They'll know to head to the gas station, and they can take it from there," he said firmly. "Here." He tossed her one of the power bars.

She grabbed it automatically and had it halfway out of the wrapper before she finally did an actual count of how many of the things they had. Three. "We each get one and a half?" she guessed.

Gibbs shook his head. "Never cared for the things. You can have 'em."

She started to protest before she remembered that she was a wendigo trapped in a small room with very limited sources of food for an indefinite period of time. 

Three power bars wouldn't make much difference in how long Gibbs could stave off starvation. They might make a difference in how long she could hold on.

She slowly put the bar back into the wrapper. "I can wait a little longer."

Gibbs nodded. "Tell me when you need the next one."

 

They made sure at least one of them was awake at all times so that they would be ready when someone came looking.

_My name is Ellie Bishop. NCIS is my family. Gibbs will get us home._

She spaced the power bars out for as long as she could.

They didn't last the first twenty-four hours.

"Sorry," she whispered when the last one was gone.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Gibbs said.

She paced the room, trying to ignore the constant gnawing in her stomach.

_My name is Ellie Bishop. NCIS is my family. They will bring us home._

"Can you talk to me?" she finally blurted out. She blushed a little when she remembered who she was talking to, but she plowed on. "I need a distraction."

"Sure," Gibbs said easily. "I ever tell you about how I met Ducky?"

Bishop had never heard him say anything about his life that wasn't directly relevant to his work, ever. She shook her head.

Gibbs kept up an easier stream of talk than she would have ever dreamed   
possible.

It didn't stop her stomach from roaring in her chest.

 

The second day, the light flickered once, and Bishop's gaze automatically went to her watch for reasons she didn't quite remember. The light steadied and stayed on.

_My name is Ellie Bishop. NCIS is my family. I'm here with Gibbs. We will go home._

She heard skittering in the walls sometimes. She wondered if there were rats. She hoped so. If she could catch one - Well, even her distaste for meat wouldn't stop her now.

She froze in her pacing.

_My name is Ellie Bishop. NCIS is my family. I'm here with Gibbs._

_What if we can't both go home?_

"Gibbs?" she said cautiously.

He looked down from his perch at the top of the ladder where he'd been attacking the trapdoor with his knife. "Yeah?"

"I need you to promise me something."

"We're gonna get out of here, Bishop."

She swallowed. "Not that. Um. If I lose control - "

"We to that point yet?"

"No. But - "

"Then don't worry about it."

She shook her head and steamrolled forward. "If I lose control, you have to shoot   
me."

"Not gonna happen, Bishop."

"Promise me," she insisted.

He sighed and paused in his work. "You won't become a monster," he promised.

If she'd asked the question even two hours later, Bishop might have relaxed. But even through the hunger, her mind was still working well enough to realize that was a bit more subjective than she was willing to put up with.

_My name is Ellie Bishop. NCIS is my family. Gibbs will go home._

 

A fly had somehow made its way down here earlier. She had sprung for it and slapped it into her mouth before she knew what she was doing.

Bishop had sat down in the corner furthest from Gibbs and refused to move ever since.

Her stomach felt like it was trying to eat its way out of her chest. The whole world was sharp and bright. Her eyes couldn't help but track movement.

And the only movement was from Gibbs.

"They're going to find us, Bishop."

The light flickered overhead.

 

She wasn't sure what time it was. The numbers on the clock kept swimming in front of her eyes.

It was her watch. She didn't hear anyone. She could never hear anyone. All she heard was the skittering of rats. She kicked and clawed at the walls for hours trying to get to them until Gibbs had intervened.

For just one moment then, she hadn't seen Gibbs. She had seen prey.

Gibbs was in the corner now. Safe in the sleeping bag.

Bishop looked down at her gun.

She couldn't think straight. Not anymore. She wasn't sure if this was the logical option or not. She had vague memories of Ducky talking about the deadliness of dead bodies. She might not be helping Gibbs at all.

But she was losing control. She might not be able to think at all soon.

She lifted the gun to her mouth. She could have something in her mouth at least.

Gibbs shifted in his corner. He sat up and looked at her with unreadable eyes.

Neither of them moved for a long moment.

She lowered the gun slightly. "Aren't you going to say something?" The words came out muddled and not quite right. She didn't care.

She wasn't sure why she wanted Gibbs to say something. She didn't want him to interfere.

Just - She wanted him to say something.

Gibbs shrugged. "What's there to say?"

Well, what was there to say? She put the gun in her mouth.

Pulled the trigger.

 

It clicked.

She pressed the trigger again in confusion, but it just clicked again. She pulled it out and stared at it.

Gibbs got up and stretched. "Like I said. Nothing to say." He paused. "Except that I took your bullets a couple of watches ago."

"Oh." She thought about asking where he put them, but her nose was in overdrive. Now that she was paying attention, she thought she could smell them on him.

There was no way she trusted herself that close to him. Not now.

"Why?" she managed.

"You're gonna get out of here," he promised again.

"Not a monster," she reminded him.

"Not a monster if it's not your fault," he countered.

Her muddled thoughts couldn't make sense of that. "Both go home," she insisted. "Both go home or - " Inspiration finally struck. "Or it won't do any good. Others will kill me." Gibbs could walk out of here alone and survive it. She couldn't.

"I gave up my right to be Challenged for," Gibbs said quietly. "You're gonna be alright, Bishop. It's not going to come to that."

_My name is Ellie Bishop. NCIS is my family. I want to go home. No. My name is Ellie Bishop. NCIS is my family. We both have to go home . . ._

 

Meat. She could smell meat. Meat in the walls. Meat right here.

But the meat was talking. It was saying - things. She didn't know what. But they made her feel good.

_Name is - NCIS is - Both go. Both go. Both go._

She had to stay right here. It was very important that she not move. She had to stay here.

_Both go. Both go. Both go._

Through the hunger, she couldn't remember where it was they had to go.

 

Bishop was rocking in the corner. Gibbs didn't disturb her. He sat as still as he could so his scent would spread around the room.

He talked, though. Talking didn't seem to set her off.

"You've got this, Bishop. You're doing good. I'm proud of you. Just hang in there."

An endless loop. Anything to get her to hang on.

He'd drained the second to last water bottle. He rolled the last one to her. She tore the top off with too sharp teeth and drained it.

The light was in a constant state of flickering now. Bishop's eyes were locked on it. His eyes, he kept on her.

He kept his gun in its holster. Any team NCIS sent out to look for them would know what they were getting into. They'd be careful to send food down first. Since 

Bishop was a known proximity wendigo, they wouldn't shoot her without determining what had happened. Since he'd resigned his right to be Challenged for if one of the team did the deed, she would be fine.

"You're gonna be okay, Bishop. You're going to go home."

He kept the gun in the holster. He saw no reason to be ready to shoot.

The light went off.

 

Tony looked to McGee impatiently. "They got it?"

"Electricity's off," McGee confirmed.

Tony was already moving towards the building. He didn't care what sort of trap with live wires the perp had set in Boston, it hadn't set well with him to sit and wait.

He moved through the house as fast as he could, McGee covering him and the other agents fanning out in the house. He could feel the connections to his pack throbbing dangerously.

Close. They were close.

His eyes locked on an abandoned cabinet in the middle of the floor. "McGee! That look oddly positioned to you?"

"Yep." McGee helped him shove it off. A trap door appeared in the floor.

And Tony heard muffled shouting.

He yanked the door open. Light from the room flooded down into the basement.  
Bishop and Gibbs were at opposite corners. Gibbs' hands were still cupped around his mouth from where he'd been yelling.

"Food," Tony hissed. McGee scrambled for the packs they'd specially prepared and handed one to Tony. He threw it down the hole.

Bishop sprang for it immediately. Gibbs eased around her and climbed the ladder. 

"Good work," he told them both in an exhausted voice. "Might need to give Bishop a minute." He glanced down. "And some more food."

"On it, Boss."

 

Bishop slid her badge and gun across the desk to Gibbs. He glanced down at them. "What's this for?"

"My resignation," she said firmly, hands behind her back. "After what happened, I know I can't continue to work here."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed. "With me."

She followed him, somewhat confused, into the elevator. As soon as the doors shut, Gibbs flicked the emergency stop button. The lights dimmed.

Bishop jumped. "Gibbs!"

"That why you're leaving? Need some time away from it?" Gibbs asked softly. There was no judgement in his tone.

"No," she insisted. "I don't like . . . places like that . . . but I can work through that."

"What's the problem then?"

She bit her lip. "Do you have any idea how close I was to - to - "

"Yep."

"Then why are we having this conversation?" she demanded.

"Bishop, you lasted four days on three power bars, and you kept your control to the end. You think that's something to be ashamed of?"

"But what if it happens again, and rescue doesn't show up in time?"

"Then it happens again. I've got faith in you, Bishop."

She narrowed her eyes. "Faith, or a death wish? I remember what you told me about the Challenge, Gibbs."

"I keep those papers because in our business, you can never be sure what will happen, and I don't want you to be punished for something outside your control.   
That doesn't mean I'm in a hurry to leave you lot to your own devices. So: Do you want to go?"

She looked down. "No," she admitted.

"Then let's get back to work."


End file.
